


Practically Perfect

by betp



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Kidfic, M/M, This is so crack Peewee Herman advocates against it, but don't listen to him!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:48:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betp/pseuds/betp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>/"Daddy, we made an ad for our new nanny," Scott says, wearing rocket ship pajamas and offering Stiles a piece of construction paper that night.</p><p>"Just mull that over," says Isaac. His pajamas have cows on them.</p><p>They pad back up the stairs, and Stiles looks at the paper. In crayon, it reads: WE NEED A NANNY PROBALLY. Reqirments:<br/>- eyes light up<br/>- wants to go places<br/>- can travel between dimentions<br/>- likes cheesebergers<br/>- a wear wolf<br/>- lisens to good music<br/>- SUPER STRONG<br/>- favorit color is pink<br/>- has friends who can fly<br/>- will merry our Dad</p><p>There is a stick figure drawing of a werewolf with red eyes and bared teeth, marrying Stiles on a cloud./</p><p>Or, "The one that has next to nothing to do with the kids."<br/>This is a straight-up unapologetic Mary Poppins AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practically Perfect

Derek is sitting on a cloud.

That sounds weird, but Derek spends a lot of time on clouds. Better on a cloud than around people.

Derek isn't pouting. Laura always says he's pouting. Laura nags too much.

Derek is on cloud eight. He frowns up at the cloud above him, where his friend Danny is having some kind of loud shindig rife with music and giggling. Better here than up there.

He's _not pouting_.

::

"Mr. Stilinski, this is the fourth time this week your brats have run away from home during Math Time."

Stiles looks up from some paperwork on his desk, distracted. "Wait, _what_ time? It's _summer_ , Judy."

Judy tuts. "It's important to keep children's minds sharp," she says. "But I can't keep those slackers' minds anything but mushy when they keep escaping!"

"Hang on. They ran _away_?" Stiles yanks his reading glasses off his face. They ran away? His children ran away. They could be _anywhere_ , and she's in _here_ yelling at _him_? "They _ran away_."

"Yes!" Judy cries, exasperated. "They ran away! They were there, and I turned around for five seconds, and then they were gone! Front door standing open, letting all the cool air out!"

Stiles stands up, palms flat on his desk. "Judy. Are you telling me that my children ran out of my home, unsupervised, for a fourth time, and not only are you bringing it up to me just now, but you are also in here complaining instead of trying to find them?"

Judy folds her arms. "Mr. Stilinski, I am not paid to chase delinquent children all over town. I am paid to watch them while you are working."

"Delinquent children," Stiles parrots incredulously.

"As for why I didn't bring it up until now, I had mostly assumed they would mention it to you."

"You thought they would volunteer information that could potentially get them into trouble," Stiles says. "Have you ever actually _met_ a child?"

"I don't have to put up with this!" Judy yells. She chucks her earring at Stiles, for lack of anything else to throw, and it hits him in the forehead. "I quit!"

"But my kids," Stiles calls after her. She ignores him, so he follows her out of the study and into the foyer. "Judy," he says.

She flings open the front door to find the sheriff, finger poised over the doorbell. Two sopping wet children sulk next to him on the stoop. "Oh! Here they are!" Judy says. She wheels around and addresses Stiles. "You're welcome!"

She shoves past the cop and around the corner.

"So I found these two in a fountain in the park," the sheriff says flatly, forcibly urging the kids into the house by the hoods of their sweatshirts.

"Ow, Grampa," says Scott.

Stiles drops to his knees and hugs them both, effectively soaking his nice shirt. He doesn't care. "Thank _jesus_ , you awful people," he says. "Miss Judy said you _ran away_ , you could have been _kidnapped_." Then he yanks back, stands up. "Scott. Isaac. What in crap central were you thinking," he asks loudly. "You could have been _kidnapped_!" Hands on his hips, like this will magically grow some kind of authority with them.

"We just wanted to fly our kite," Isaac says tearfully, "but _Scott_ crashed it into a _tree_ —"

"I did _not_ , I don't control the _weather_ , _Isaac_ —"

"I was flying it, and Scott grabbed the _handle_ , so it crashed—"

"I was trying to _stop_ you from crashing it into the _other_ tree—"

"And then Scott _attacked_ me—"

"No, I didn't, he _hit_ me, so I pushed him—"

"Shoved me into the—"

" _Attacked_ me! With a _shoe_!"

"You _stole my shoe_ , and I—"

"Stop!" Stiles shouts. They both fall silent with a growl. "What in the—I don't even—" He sighs, drops his hands. Looks up at the sheriff, who is standing and watching with some kind of mixture of amusement and pity on his face. "Thanks for bringing them home, Dad."

"No problem," says the sheriff. "You should probably get a new nanny."

"Yeah. Probably."

"See you all next Sunday!"

He departs, shutting the door behind him, and Scott and Isaac shuffle their feet sheepishly, while Stiles stares at them like they're an enigma. "Daddy, will you fix our kite Scott broke," Isaac asks.

"No," Stiles says. After a beat, he amends, "I mean, yes. But first you're in trouble. I have to punish you."

"Punish us?" Scott repeats.

"Yes. Punish. I punish thee. You are punished."

"I don't think he knows how to punish people," Isaac whispers to Scott.

Stiles tries to remember how his father punished him. It wasn't hard; he would mostly just sigh and shake his head and propel actual tangible disappointment at Stiles until Stiles cried and apologised. He tries to convey disappointment now, but judging from his kids' faces, all he manages is to look vaguely constipated. Then Stiles gets an idea. It's brilliant! "Go to your room!" he says triumphantly. "Up the stairs! Go there, and stay there!" They look marginally sadder (success!), so Stiles tacks on, "Forever!"

Scott and Isaac slump their way up the stairs, arguing with each other over whose fault it is they're dripping and laden with an unflyable kite.

" _And_ you have to be _quiet_!" Stiles calls up after them, and they groan. Stiles does _too_ know how to punish people. Stiles is the ultimate disciplinarian.

Stiles needs a new nanny, stat.

::

He composes an ad for the paper: _Some kind of nanny/babysitter required. Ideally, will be capable of gluing two boys to chairs while also engaging them in educational games. Will pay who cares how much, you don't exist. No. 15 Bacon Hills Rd._

"This is the worst ad I've ever seen," says the cook, Bobby. "You should put a speech, like a Martin Luther King Jr. speech, he gave great speeches."

"He did," Stiles concurs, "but I don't know how that will help me find a suitable warden for my children."

"You could just have them spend days with their mother," offers his neighbour, Alan, that night, over the back fence.

Stiles sighs. "Their mother is currently in South America. She said, and I quote, 'I would like to visit a place Stiles has never even heard of, ' and then she went to a place in South America I have never even heard of."

"What if you emailed her a speech," suggests Bobby at dinner. "Maybe one by Joseph Stalin! He gave great speeches."

"Also true," Stiles replies, "but again: it doesn't have much to do with the prospect of child development."

Bobby makes great chili, okay.

"Daddy, we made an ad for our new nanny," Scott says, wearing rocket ship pajamas and offering Stiles a piece of construction paper that night.

"Just mull that over," says Isaac. His pajamas have cows on them.

They pad back up the stairs, and Stiles looks at the paper. In crayon, it reads: _WE NEED A NANNY PROBALLY. Reqirments:_  
\- eyes light up  
\- wants to go places  
\- can travel between dimentions  
\- likes cheesebergers  
\- a wear wolf  
\- lisens to good music  
\- SUPER STRONG  
\- favorit color is pink  
\- has friends who can fly  
\- will merry our Dad

There is a stick figure drawing of a werewolf with red eyes and bared teeth, marrying Stiles on a cloud. Stiles spends about twenty minutes giggling at it. Because he's seen a lot of things, including Isaac learning to talk and calling Scott 'Sop,' his ex-wife Lydia under the impression all children taught themselves to read like she did, and Scott as a baby putting cake in his hair, and this still definitely makes his list of top five most adorable things that have ever happened. He tacks it up on the wall next to his desk.

He puts his ad in the paper, because Bobby don't know shit.

::

The next day, he stands blank-faced and watches while a tornado descends abruptly, picks up the six applicants to the job, and carries them away. He isn't as concerned as he probably should be. The tornado dissipates, and the second it does, a man lands in the yard.

Like, lands in it, from the sky. With a gross thud.

Like a comet. He shot into the lawn.

Leaves an indent. In the ground. It's weirdo-shaped.

He picks himself up, adjusts his beat-up leather jacket, and then lets himself into the house.

"Hey," Stiles says, dazed.

"Hey," the guy says. "I'm, uh. I'm Derek."

"Cool. I'm Stiles. How did you…?"

"The door was open."

"No, I—" Stiles narrows his eyes. "I got that, I meant how did you… fall from the sky?"

"I was up there, and then I landed down here," Derek replies, like this should be obvious. And considering the way he chose to interpret the question, it kind of is obvious. Stiles decides he doesn't care anymore.

"Did you do the tornado?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He eyes Stiles, head to toes and back again. "Nice tie," he says.

Stiles looks down. It's got wolves on it. "Thanks," he says. He examines Derek in kind. Derek is as tall as he is, with sooty, dark hair and green eyes. He needs a shave, and clean sneakers. And, perhaps, Stiles' body all over him. Not that Stiles wants that, except he does. Sky-man can't know! Stiles compensates by frowning at him. "Can I help you with something, Derek-from-the-sky?"

"I'm here for the job," Derek says. Offers a piece of paper.

Stiles yanks it from his hands, and it's the ad Scott and Isaac made. He gawks at the wall where he tacked it up, and it's there, too. It is both on the wall, and in his hands. "What," he says, but Derek is already talking.

"I fit all the requirements," he says, "except I'd also teach them spelling. Which they clearly need."

"Well," Stiles says, "to be fair, Scott wrote this. Isaac can spell, but his penmanship's shit."

"Whatever," Derek says.

"You fit all the requirements?" Stiles gasps a mostly mirthless laugh. "You're a werewolf who can travel in between dimensions?"

Derek shrugs. "Some people are."

"And your favourite colour is pink?"

Derek's ears go red. "Don't make me fight you."

"Listen, asshole—"

"Look. I'll hang around a week, and if you don't like me, you can send me back into the sky."

Stiles giggles. Then he sobers. "I'm sorry, that was just the best thing anyone's ever said to me." Derek raises an eyebrow. Stiles looks back at the sheet. "Wait, you'll marry me?"

But when he looks up, Derek is already heading up the stairs.

Stiles collapses into his desk chair.

::

"You got our ad!" Scott crows at Derek.

"Yeah," Derek says.

"Are you our new nanny?" Isaac asks.

"I guess," Derek says. "Who are you."

"I'm Scott," Scott says. "That's Isaac." He points at Isaac.

Isaac hops. "I'm Isaac."

"That's Isaac," Derek says.

Isaac and Scott make tittering noises. Children have the ability to sound like birds. Their heads bob as they circle around Derek.

"You're supposed to be a werewolf," Scott accuses. "Where's your tail."

"I don't have a tail," Derek tells him, resisting the urge to add 'loser' at the end of the sentence.

"Wanna see your room?" Isaac offers.

They lead him into an empty bedroom. On the wall above the bed is a framed picture of a lemon. Derek frowns. "I hate lemons," he says. He takes it down, pushes it into his jacket pocket. Scott and Isaac gape as it disappears inside. Derek digs around in the pocket for a bit, and finally produces an identical picture frame, with a photo of a lime. He puts that up instead.

"How did that fit in your pocket," Isaac asks at the same time as Scott yelps, "What else you got in there!"

Derek shrugs. "Lots of things," he says. "My stuff, some money. My cat. Picture of my sister." He pulls out a tiny gold frame with a picture of a smiling woman, long dark hair, eyes impenetrable flashes of red light.

"Whoa," Scott says.

Derek puts the picture on the bedside table. He pulls three cheeseburgers from his pocket and they all sit on the bed and eat them.

"Mine has pickles," Isaac whines after a moment.

"Eat your pickles, you'll die of scurvy," Derek replies with his mouth full.

::

Stiles leaves his office feeling like a zombie the next evening, and when he gets home the kids are in bed already. Stiles sits on Scott's bed and squeezes his feet through the comforter.

"Derek is the best," Isaac tells Stiles.

"He's okay," Scott says.

"He took us into a chalk drawing today," Isaac whispers, like this is a secret.

"He took you to a chalk drawing?" Stiles asks.

"No, _into_ ," corrects Scott. "His friend Erica drew a picture of a mini golf course in chalk on the ground, and then Derek grabbed us and held us under his arms, and we went into the drawing. We played mini golf."

"Scott cheated," Isaac says.

"No, I didn't," Scott snaps. "Isaac lost, so he got mad and said I cheated, but I didn't."

Surprisingly, Isaac does not engage in a fight with Scott. Instead, he says, "Erica also drew a lizard monster, and we had to tell it we loved it, and then it turned into Jackson."

Stiles looks at him oddly. "A lizard monster turned into your mother's boyfriend."

"He was a kanima," Scott says. "Derek says it's a good thing we didn't have to kill it."

"Derek says we shouldn't kill things if we don't have to."

"He says we should help people."

Stiles nods. "Uh huh. Good advice."

"He also says you have pretty eyes," Isaac says. "You should marry him."

"Are you gonna?" asks Scott.

Stiles sighs. "Am I going to marry your magic nanny," he asks the air slowly. "Yeah, I'm gonna have to plead the fifth on that one."

He reads to them from Twilight until they both fall asleep.

::

Derek is sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea when Stiles gets downstairs. He looks up at him and his eyes catch the light of the lamp weird.

"So," Stiles says, getting a cup of coffee for himself, "my kids are under the impression they played mini golf in a chalk drawing and fought an ancient evil with you today."

Derek nods sagely. "I wasn't expecting the kanima to be there. Erica shouldn't have drawn it."

"Uh huh," Stiles says. Sits at the table next to him. "I'd like to write this off as some kind of massively entertaining make-believe game you played with them, but I did watch you fall from heaven yesterday."

Derek shrugs one shoulder, as if Stiles told him he saw him riding the bus yesterday. "They don't look like you at all," he says.

"They're adopted," Stiles replies. "Lydia didn't want to go through a pregnancy. Actually, she didn't really want kids. Don't tell them that."

"They talk about you a lot," Derek says. "They miss you."

Stiles squirms. Frowns into his coffee. "I can't really get out of work all that easily. Harris doesn't have much patience for me, he'll fire me if I—"

"I wasn't trying to guilt you," Derek says, irritated. "I was just telling you you're an appealing father."

"Oh. Uh," says Stiles, blushing. "Thanks." He pauses, and then looks at Derek. Eyes that green shouldn't be allowed. "You're the, uh. First nanny they've ever not hated."

One side of Derek's lips curls up a bit. He nods appreciatively.

They drink their hot beverages in comfortable silence.

::

For the next three days, there is, for the first time, a routine. Stiles works all day, comes home, lets Scott and Isaac regale him with tales of their outings with Derek the werewolf—

"We met Erica's friend Boyd today. He can fly!"

"Derek can't swim! We told him you could swim really good."

"Derek howled at the moon, and so did we!"

—and recount for him Derek's various pearls of wisdom—

"Derek says every person is different and we shouldn't be dicks about it."

"Derek says grown-ups get scared, too, sometimes, and we should cut you a break every once in a while."

"Derek says everyone grows differently and I shouldn't feel bad Isaac is taller than me even though he's only six."

"Derek says to punch with your thumb on the outside of your fist so you don't break it."

—after which Stiles goes to the kitchen and talks to Derek. The upside is Stiles gets to talk to someone over the age of seven about something completely and blessedly unrelated to insurance. The downside is every night they do this, they end up accidentally staying up an hour later, and Stiles has _work_ in the morning, damn it.

Finally, Friday night—almost Saturday morning, actually—Stiles says to Derek, "Why don't you take the day off, tomorrow."

"Tomorrow as in Saturday, or tomorrow as in Sunday?" asks Derek. "Also, why?"

"Saturday," Stiles says. "I've been told Scott and Isaac are a handful. You might need a break."

"They're really not. If anyone needs a break, it's you."

"I spend all day on my ass at a computer," Stiles says, eyebrows up. "There is no reason in the world I would be tired."

Derek reaches out with one hand, cups his face. Runs a thumb under one of his eyes. "You look exhausted," he says seriously.

Stiles feels his face go bright red. "U-um." He inhales deeply. It brings some clarity. He says airily, "So we should definitely talk about the, uh, the last item on your list of requirements?"

Derek makes, like, the ghost of a smirk. Like he would be smirking if he wasn't being maddeningly obtuse right now. "What about it?" he asks.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "You know," he waves his hands to indicate… something. "The one about marrying their dad."

"It actually said I had to be willing to 'merry' their dad," Derek says. "Have I not made you merry?"

"You have filled me with merriment," Stiles replies sincerely. "I'm coasting on a raft of pure bliss. Ergo: my attempts to discuss my kids' multiple requests that you marry me. Even though you're an asshole."

"I am an asshole," Derek agrees. "I didn't realise they were asking you about that, too."

Stiles nods. "Even if you don't want to," he says, and tries not to wince, "you should still definitely stay. Because Scott and Isaac are nuts about you."

Derek does smirk this time. "It hasn't even been a week yet. I told you to give me a week."

"Five days is apparently long enough to get stupidly fond of a magic werewolf," Stiles says. Realises he's been leaning toward Derek, like he's being pulled.

Derek hums thoughtfully. Blinks his stupidly green eyes.

Stiles blinks back, and sighs frustratedly. "Do you just do this to everyone you work for?"

Derek glowers. "Do what."

"Make them fall in love with you, dumbass. You come in here, you show my kids _magic_. Isaac's handwriting is starting to look almost legible, you've been here five _days_. You're the first person I've ever really been able to talk to. My cook hates you, he doesn't hate anybody. Your eyes _flash_ like _whoa_. I don't even know what you _are_."

"Last guy I worked for told his ancient boss a joke and he died laughing," Derek says. "That was when I knew it was time to split. It was ludicrous. Time before that, I got a family of werewolf hunters, that sucked. But I usually get drunks with teenage children. I've never enjoyed my job until now."

"What _is_ your job?"

"I have no idea. Maybe my job was to find you."

" _Ah_." Stiles is not going to swoon. He'd just fall on the floor, probably break his nose on a table leg. Instead, he picks himself up and drops into Derek's lap and kisses him. Stiles resigns himself to the fact that he'll never be able to explain to anyone that he's making out with a magical werewolf nanny. He's okay with that; the feeling of Derek's hair between his fingers is more than enough compensation for that sacrifice. "Derek," he growls, "sex, us. You and me. Now."

Derek seems to concur. Magical werewolf nannies are incredible in bed. Just saying.

::

Stiles fixes the kite and then all four of them sit on cloud eight and fly the kite.

Better up here than down in the park, where Erica is drawing the kanima on the sidewalk repeatedly in the hopes Derek will bring the kids back. Boyd floats by and gets tangled briefly in the kite string.

Stiles brings Derek to Sunday dinner with the sheriff.

The sheriff takes it in stride.

Scott and Isaac fall asleep after dinner, and Derek and Stiles carry them home. Stiles wears a pink tie. Derek feels bad for everyone who isn't him. He gets a letter from Laura in the mail a few days later. It says, "Finally stopped pouting, I see! Coming to meet them in a few days. -L"

Derek frowns at the letter. He _wasn't pouting_.

**Author's Note:**

> I was a little tipsy when I suggested this and someone said they'd love me forever if I did it, so I wrote it in two hours. I'm here to collect on my eternal devotion. 
> 
> I had to rewatch Mary Poppins to write this.


End file.
